


Self-Improvement

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for crocodilepatronus on Tumblr. Thomas buys a fitness regimen when he really needs to buy a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Improvement

Jimmy stood naked in the middle of Thomas’ bedroom.

Even now, after six months together, it was a sight to stir Thomas’ cock and make his throat grow tight. Jimmy was glorious. His body was sculpted in ways Thomas had never seen outside of Greek art, and his skin never lost its golden glow, even in the middle of a dreary English winter. Jimmy looked up, a smile curving his beautiful lips, and Thomas stepped forward to take him in his arms.

Or he was about to, until a hand, dark-skinned and distinctive, slipped over Jimmy’s shoulder and down his chest, pausing to fondle a nipple. Thomas stared as another brown hand caressed Jimmy’s rock-hard stomach, dipping into his navel and exploring planes and valleys that were Thomas’ territory alone. Anger began to replace lust. Thomas opened his mouth, to protest vociferously, but no sound came out. Instead, he was forced to watch, silent and unmoving, as Jimmy turned and wrapped his arms around Jack Ross.

Ross was handsome. Under other circumstances, Thomas would have been happy to watch him kissing another man, their naked bodies flush against one another and their cocks twitching together. Ross was large. Thomas could admire that. He could even admire Ross’ wit. When Ross first arrived at the house, he’d come downstairs in the middle of lunch. Everybody had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare.

“Our apologies,” Carson had said, after a long moment, his tone pompous as always. “But we are not used to seeing…your sort here at Downton.”

“Musicians, you mean?” Ross had replied, easily. 

Carson had blustered, and Thomas smiled. Anybody who could get Carson on the back foot was worthy of respect, but respect did not extend to loaning out Jimmy.

But Thomas couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t even close his eyes; it was as if they had been propped open by pins. He watched, helpless, as Jimmy moaned wantonly into Ross’ mouth. With one hand, Ross caressed Jimmy’s backside. The other, he buried in Jimmy’s hair, pulling him close as they kissed with unbridled passion. When Jimmy pulled away, reluctantly, he was gasping, his eyes shining with emotion. Without a word, Jimmy sank to his knees. His hands skimmed down Ross’ body, and he took Ross’ cock into his mouth.

The alarm jangled, dragging Thomas into wakefulness. It was early even by his standards, barely four o’clock, but he had a mission to complete. Pushing aside lingering memories of the nightmare, he dressed casually, in his shirt, waistcoat and trousers but leaving off his jacket. Tucking a parcel under one arm, he sneaked through the dimly lit hallways to the drawing room.

He lit only one lamp, the one nearest his goal. He was dying for a cigarette, but it was far safer to have that afterwards, when he was back in his own room.

The phonograph player sat off in a corner of the drawing room, a disc already in place. Thomas removed it carefully. He placed it to one side and slipped on his own disc. He made certain the volume was low and dropped the needle into the groove. A burst of static hissed, then was replaced by a high-pitched, upper-class female voice. “Welcome ladies,” the voice said, “to Miss Georgia Davenport’s Guide to Reducing and Regaining One’s Womanly Figure.”

The road leading up to this particular humiliation had been long and winding. Jack Ross had first arrived at Downton Abbey as a friend of Lady Rose’s. It soon became clear to everybody from the hallboys to the Dowager that he was more than that. Thomas would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Shrimpie received the news. As it was, Thomas knew there was no logical reason for him to be jealous of the time Ross spent with Jimmy, huddled over the piano in the servants’ hall. But he did seem to be there a lot.

“It’s great to have another musician in the house,” Jimmy enthused, as he and Thomas lay in bed together one night. “He’s a damn sight better than I’ll ever be, though. Makes me feel like I’m wasting my bloody time.”

“You aren’t,” Thomas said. Ross may have been immune to Jimmy’s charms, but the big eyes and the flirtatious smiles, the teasing laughter and the brushes of hands as they sat at the piano—everything Thomas had once thought Jimmy did only for him—would serve Jimmy well with the upstairs set. It was terrible to think it, and it made Thomas feel physically ill, but he was nothing if not a realist. Men like Thomas were far more common than men like Carson cared to admit, and upstairs, they didn’t always feel the need to hide it. In the old days, before the war, Thomas had never lacked attention from rich, handsome men, and he had been far less beautiful than Jimmy. When Jimmy realized the power he possessed, when he realized his value, then Thomas would find himself in competition with many men far younger, wealthier and fitter than he.

Not that Thomas was about to wave the white flag. He was a realist, but he wasn’t a quitter. He couldn’t change his age or his social standing, but he could do something about his body, which admittedly he’d let slip. Even Mrs. Patmore had noticed it. He’d been in the kitchen one afternoon, gossiping with Daisy and digging into a plate of little chocolate cakes, each one decorated with a dollop of cream and a slice of luscious red strawberry. “You want to lay off those,” Mrs. Patmore said. “You’re set to burst your buttons as it is.” Disloyal Daisy tittered.

“Well," Thomas said, “you would know about that, Mrs. Patmore.” As a cutting retort, it was weak. It grew weaker still when, not an hour later, he bent to open the bottom of the sideboard in the dining room and a button did indeed pop off his admittedly tight jacket, rolling beneath Lady Grantham’s chair. Nobody noticed, thank God, but Thomas took it as a sign. The next day, cigarette in one hand and pen in the other, he’d ordered the Miss Georgia Davenport Reduction Kit from the back of a magazine he found in the servants’ hall.

He hadn’t expected it to be directed solely at ladies, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Weight loss was weight loss, surely. It was difficult to gauge his progress, not having access to scales, but Thomas felt thinner, a little bit, and he’d only been using it a week. Jimmy will notice a difference soon, he thought, as he followed Miss Davenport’s directions and did a series of deep-knee bends. The toe-touches were next. Thomas stretched his arms high above his head, puffing with effort, and as he straightened his back along with Miss Davenport’s cheerful, “That’s it, girls, you’ve got it now,” a voice behind him said, “Thomas? What in God’s name are you doing?”

Thomas tore the disc off the phonograph so quickly, the needle scratched and Miss Davenport’s voice screeched like a banshee.

“What am I doing?” He snapped, stuffing the disc into its sleeve. Jimmy came through the darkened sitting room. He wore only his dressing gown and slippers, his hair disarranged by sleep. “If Mr. Carson catches you like that in here, you’ll lose your job.”

“I went to your room,” Jimmy said, heedless of the threat. “For a bit of a…visit.” Thomas could hear the blush in his voice. “But I saw you leaving, so I followed.”

“I’m…” Thomas reached desperately. “Practising dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Need to be ready for the servants ball.” In ten months’ time.

“Yes.” Jimmy’s eyes were on the phonograph disc. Thomas hid it against his chest. “That didn’t seem like dancing.”

“It’s a new craze.”

“Really?”

“From America.”

“Oh.” Jimmy licked his lips. It really was foolhardy to linger here. Thomas took a step towards the door, which brought him closer to Jimmy. Jimmy reached out, his hand landing on Thomas’ arm. “Thomas, you aren’t…jealous are you? Of the time I spend with Jack Ross?”

“No, of course not.” That was true. He wasn’t jealous of that; he was jealous of all the other men who’d soon be the recipients of Jimmy’s charms, once Jimmy realized the charms he had to bestow, and what he could get in exchange for them.

“Good. Because Ross is my friend, but I…” Jimmy looked away. “I love you, you know.” As Thomas stood, frozen in surprise, Jimmy’s lips pressed first against Thomas’ neck and then against his cheek.

The kiss returned Thomas to life, like something out of a fairy story. “We can’t do this here.”

Jimmy’s breath puffed across Thomas’ face. “It’s four o’clock in the bloody morning. Nobody’s going to find us.”

“Jimmy…”

“Don’t think I’m stupid. You haven’t had a pudding in a week.” He wrenched the disc away from Thomas. “And this is no bloody dance.” It wasn’t. It was, in fact, “ Miss Georgia Davenport’s Guide to Reducing and Regaining One’s Womanly Figure.” If the title was not clear enough, the drawing of two women, one fat and sad and the other thin and smiling, on the sleeve eliminated any doubts as to the purpose of the disc. “You’re worried I’ll find somebody better. But I won’t. Because there’s nobody better, for me.”

It was a kind thought. Thomas smiled despite himself. “I can’t give you what other men can.” In his own glory days, Thomas had landed a duke. Nearly. That hadn’t worked out quite as planned, but Jimmy would be luckier. Jimmy would have whatever he wanted.

“I don’t need anybody to give me anything.” Jimmy’s tone was affronted. Thomas didn’t know why. “I want somebody who makes me happy.”

“You’ll be very happy when you’re rich.”

“Thomas, shut up.” Jimmy kissed him again, on the mouth, gently at first and then harder, his tongue pressing against Thomas’. “Get rid of this stupid thing.” He tore the disc out of Thomas’ hands and tossed it onto the settee. “Come on. We’ve still got three-quarters of an hour before we have to get up.” Jimmy’s hand found the ring of fat that had settled, like a life preserver, about Thomas’ middle. He pinched it, gently. “And for God’s sake, go back to your puddings, will you? I like something to hold onto when we…”

“Visit?” Thomas knew better than Jimmy, with his strange romantic notions. He knew this wouldn’t last; it couldn’t. But that was no reason, Thomas thought, not to enjoy it while it did.

***

When she was at Downton, Edith did all her writing in the drawing room. Her father still hadn’t agreed to grant her a place in his library, and sitting in her mother’s morning room meant Edith had to listen to her read every scrap of her correspondence aloud, accompanied by lengthy commentary on the person who’d written it. The drawing room was Edith’s when she was home, everybody knew it. As she was about to settle down with her pen and paper, she saw something already on the settee.

Curious, Edith picked it up. It was a phonograph disc, in a sleeve imprinted with the title: “Miss Georgia Davenport’s Guide to Reducing and Regaining One’s Womanly Figure.” Edith’s cheeks grew hot. _Mary. That bitch._ Edith had put on a few pounds lately, she could admit it, but Michael didn’t mind. In any case, not everybody had the luxury of playing the wan widow, lying frail and beautiful while men swarmed about her.

Well, Edith thought, two can play at that game. She took up her pen, already composing a scathing diatribe against men who went after rich widows, when there were so many perfectly suitable women who’d never been married, in her mind.


End file.
